


Don't Remember Me, I Beg

by TheatricallyColorful



Series: Starlight. [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, Sad, what the hell possessed me to write such sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatricallyColorful/pseuds/TheatricallyColorful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't want the dawn to come because it means he has to let go of the person next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Remember Me, I Beg

**Author's Note:**

> Additionally, look for song references! Should I turn this into a 'verse?

Shaking and uncertain, his hands move over closed lids, hiding those eyes that he loved so much. He draws an intake of breath; unsteady, half-aware puffs pulling out of his mouth. He wonders how to fix this mess he’s created this time, things he never mean to do, but somehow slip out of his grasp into utter chaos. He knows he messes up everything.

His hands stroke that face, so strong, so defined, all angles and taut muscles. His lover’s body is rigid, stressed, as if berating him silently, _what stupid thing have you done this time?_ But he knows his lover would never really say that. He is too kind, too compassionate to voice out the harsh, razor-lidded truth.

He nearly snorts a laugh out, thinking, _my lover, kind? Compassionate? The grief must be driving me mad._

He awaits the dawn with impatience, knowing the sun’s warm rays with gently rouse the body next to his, wake him up, and raise his defenses against whatever trickery he’s planned for today.

But he remembers all of his mistakes, and he hangs his head low. His fingers spasm hatefully, and his voice is keening to claw its way out of his throat, to scream, to vent, to let loose the cannon of words he keeps tightly locked behind mindless babble and countless dams.

What a silly curse this is, he reflects. Asgardians and their stupid spells, catching his lover mid battle, striking him cowardly from behind with a spell that binds his limbs to sleep as the sun sinks, and to rise again as the sun rises, memories washed away from his mind.

He’s never hated magic so much more in his entire life, depriving him of the touch of his lover, his comforting words and knowing grin.

It’s all too worse knowing the spell was intended for him. Because he actually has a way with words, a way to line every word with blades, to let poison drip venomously from every syllable and let the hate freeze any emotion out of his mouth.

He thinks of everything, of every little thing the world has deprived him of, of all the good times, and the bad times, the sunsets and sunrises, the croon and hum of his lover as he sails off to sleep.

He curses out the world for being so hateful towards a person like him.

He watches the stars beat out a tattoo in the inky black sky. He watches the clouds curl and wisp around gleaming diamante against black velvet.

He knows he’s foolish, he’s being a whiny child, but his anger drives out other thoughts and any semblance of rationality. Because if he fails the only thing he can do now, he will go home to an empty, cold house.

He doesn’t get down on his knees, praying in a god he doesn’t believe in.

He doesn’t let go of his lover’s hand.

He doesn’t let himself be fooled by false promises and stupid, pitying gestures.

He doesn’t want to fail.

He doesn’t want to feel the aching emptiness of defeat.

He doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

He wants to see the penthouse filled with laughter, with joy, with sunlight that would drive away the shadows, and love that ease the pain.

 _I won’t let you go,_ he promises fiercely, clutching desperately at his lover’s hands. He savors what little time he has left before the sun rises, and the spell locks his lover in place. When the tension will mar his beautiful face, when he will snatch his hand away, when he will turn his face away in utter disgust.

When the daylight comes, he will disappear, forget about their love, perhaps get drunk and _fucking fight_ because he has to catch his breath and pretend to hate this man long enough to search out the cure and-

His lover stirs, and he snatches his hand away, turning his face away stonily, ignoring the pang in his heart.

He strides away from the chaise lounge, swallowing an onslaught of emotions because he isn’t supposed to feel anything for this man. He has a charade to keep up to until he figures out his next act.

He has to bury his love away to keep it alive.

“What are you doing here?” he snarls, shooting up from the chaise lounge, hands curling into fists. Hands that wanted to destroy him, rip him apart, when they already did, _tearing him apart piece by piece, fingering the broken shards in the most intimate way they knew._

Breathe.

He curls his face into a malicious smirk, because he is the bad guy, and his lover is the bad boy turned superhero, the adored hero of the broken and beaten, fighting against evil in the most glorious of ways, in a trailing blaze of red and gold.

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” he grins, and it’s like he’s thrown back in the past, grinning even though he was in tremendous pain, his teeth stained in his own blood.

“I said what are you doing here?” Tony hollers, jumping off the chaise lounge and stalking towards him. Loki shrugs. “Can’t a man stroll out to visit a friend?”

Tony snorts. “First off, Reindeer Games, you aren’t a man. You’re a crazed, bloodthirsty Norse god. Secondly, I’m not friends with super villains,” he sniffs.

Loki shrugs again. “Figure it out then, Stark. You are the genius.”

_Strummin’ my pain with his fingers, telling my life with his words. Killin’ me softly with his song, he’s killin’ me softly with his song._

Loki leaves, unable to stand any more of the tension, the appalling thickness in the air. Tony was his, and he was Tony’s, but until the spell was lifted he had to let it go.

He swallows convulsively, clicks his heels three times, and silently wishes for Tony as he melts away.

Tony watches him go, a little surprised, and maybe a little relieved, but ultimately the emotion crushing his chest is not _happiness._

He unhappily thinks, _when have I ever given a damn whether he’s gone or not?_ Jarvis shocks him by informing him, _“Sir, I believe you have forgotten to kiss Mr. Laufeyson goodbye again.”_ Tony stumbles in surprise as he heads to the bar. “Jarvis, you’re shitting me. What do you mean, kiss him goodbye? He’s a fucking supervillain!” he exclaims.

 _“But sir, footage and audio from the past year show you convincing him otherwise. It also shows a number of various activities couples do such as cuddling, feeding each other, sleeping together, spooning and more than once a day, making-“_ Tony’s voice is low and gravelly when he replies, “Don’t bother continuing that, Jarvis.”

Tony heads out to the couch, a familiar, comforting scent assailing his nose. Spices, peppermint, leather and old books melded together to form an intoxicating scent Tony’s heart constricts at. He cradles his head in his hands. “What the fuck have I been doing?” he mutters. “Jarvis, date today.”

_“Sir, it is October 8, 2012.”_

“WHAT?” he jumps up. “Jarvis, you must’ve been fried or hacked or something!” he panics, because it cannot be more than a year and a half since the famed Battle of New York, Earth’s mightiest heroes against alien scum.

_“I believe I am perfectly well, sir. Mr. Laufeyson has informed me that you have been hit by a level-three Asgardian spell that will compromise your memory, but I was under the implication it was not this severe.”_

“There you go with the ‘Mr. Laufeyson’ again, Jarvis! What are you talking about?” Tony exclaims in surprise and frustration. Jarvis might be an AI, but he didn’t address super villains respectfully unless Tony directed him to, or that super villain gained his respect enough.

“Jarvis, I want security footage of the last year and a half, with audio and as clear as it can go. On my tablet, pronto,” Tony orders and stands up, that heady scent still clinging to his nose. Instead of being freaked out, he finds himself savoring it, enjoying the scents melded perfectly into each other and the way they stick to every surface. Hell, he kind of smelled like that too!

Tony only now realizes that the last year and a half is a blank. No memories. Not even a tiny niggle. What happened the day after the battle? Why was Jarvis addressing Loki as “Mr. Laufeyson?”

Jarvis intones, _“The data is ready sir,”_ and Tony picks up the tablet. He flicks through the first few days, uninterested as he recuperates, in various poses of rest and recline: a slouch, half-slung over the couch, facepalmed against his lab desk, curled up on his barely-used bed. The next week got more interesting though, as the Avengers went in one by one and claimed a floor of their own. Even Thor came along, merrily loud and obnoxious, carting in crates of Poptarts in his private storage, pigging out on the sugary treat day and night.

Steve came along, gloriously old-fashioned and his moral compass pointed unerringly north. He chills out with the Avengers on some days in the common room, talking and learning the new ways of lifestyle.

Even Bruce came along, Tony sees with a flicker of happiness. He and Tony work day and night in the R&D lab, brainstorming, inventing, and creating. They had figured out a versatile cloth that could withstand anything, even Hulking out, made a new set of GPS-enabling arrows that could follow a person around for 18 hours, and its tip could be dislodged and used as a bug. They made a twist on the classic Swiss knife, adding laser beams and removable metal shears for Natasha, who used it smugly whenever she could.

They were science bros, Tony thinks with a smile.

Trouble came a few months into Tony’s heaven. Loki teleported himself in his penthouse, exhausted, wounded, and without a shred of memory. Not even of his magic.

Tony watches with morbid fascination as other Tony tends to Loki, teaches him of the world, determined to change a supervillain.

But when Loki turns to kiss him on the cheek on the 13th of August, Tony turns his tablet off.

He doesn’t want to see how low he’s fallen.


End file.
